Before They Were Heros
by Horky
Summary: They weren't always the saviors of the planet
1. Colors

Before They Were Heros

Colors

She hates being dirty, and she swore to Barret that's the last time she ever went in the sewers again...AVALANCHE or not.

But she knows it's a lie, and so does he.

She can feel the sweat sticking to her skin, confined by the grime that's collected. Her scalp feels like it's on fire, her hair greasy.

Her favorite color is yellow; she loves every color, but yellow is her favorite.

She can't wear it though. Her skin is too pale, and it makes her look washed out. It's a shame to not be able to wear your favorite color.

They tell her red is her color. It goes with her eyes. Another reason she can't wear yellow. Yellow doesn't befriend red too well.

She figured her favorite color would be blue...the blue of his eyes specifically, but it'd been so long since she'd seen them, and there was no other blue like those. What's the point in having a favorite color if you can only see it in your dreams?

It's the towels, though, that catch her attention. They're a deep, rich purple. Purple, it's a good color, and she's never seen these towels before. They look too lush, too soft to be in the slums. But they're here.

And she realizes why the purple has made an impact on her, because she hasn't really seen the color purple for years.

It was Zack, he had purple eyes. They were so deep, and dark sometimes, on that journey up the mountain. Other times, they were light and cheerful, but always purple.

She hasn't seen Zack since that night at the reactor.

She hasn't seen _him._ The boy with blue eyes. The boy that promised to be there for her, to be her hero. The boy that disappeared.

She glances at the towels. She wants more purple in her life, purple like the cheer in his eyes; more blue, blue like the intensity in his eyes, blue like the skies that are nothing but a myth beneath the plate. More yellow. Yellow like his hair, yellow like the sun she hasn't seen in so long. Yellow like the flowers that her mother grew behind her house.

Maybe she liked yellow more, because that's all she ever saw of him. His eyes, they were beautiful, but rare. She never saw them, really, he was too busy hiding his head. But she'd always catch a glimpse of his yellow locks shining in the sun. Maybe that's why she loves yellow, because when she'd catch a glimpse of it, she'd think he was around. She'd know he was there.

She'd stopped looking at yellow after Nibelhiem died. When she saw yellow, she thought of him, and how she'd never see him again.

But she's tired of that.

So she went shopping. She bought colors, fabrics that spoke volumes. Even if she can't wear it, can't wear blue or purple or yellow, she'll have it to see.

It's when she's walking around Sector five that she sees the woman.

All pink, and she envies her. Barret told her not to wear bright colors, that colors attracted attention, and people were more likely to remember your face. So she was stuck in this bar whore's costume for the time, and it wasn't like they were looking at her face anyways. Subconsciously she crosses her arms over her chest, grateful for the jacket she borrowed from Jesse.

She nears the woman, and notices the basket of flowers hanging from her arm. She has to pause, studying the basket, the flowers. Yellow...yellow like the flowers of Nibelhiem, of home.

She reaches out, before she's even thought of it, touching one of the silky pedals. It catches the woman's attention. She turns, beaming green eyes, and smiles at her.

"Would you like to buy a flower?"

She swallows, looking down at her bags. "I just spent all my money." She yanked the fabric from her bag.

The woman's eyes alighted on the purple fabric almost immediately, and she noticed a pain fill the woman's eyes.

"I can't wear purple." The woman stated.

She believes the woman hadn't meant to say it out loud, and she really doesn't see why not; she thinks the woman would look fine in purple.

"Would you like it? I can't wear my favorite color either, but that's not going to keep me from enjoying it, not anymore at least." She replied to the woman.

"But...but I can't just take what-

"I'll buy a flower." She stated, holding out the fabric.

The woman's eyes go wide, "What...color?"

"Yellow."

The woman forfeited a yellow flower to her, and then smiled, a bit of hope sparking in her eyes.

"Thank you."

She took the flower, and continued on her way, only sparing one glance over her shoulder at the woman. She's staring at the fabric as if she's never seen the color purple before. But there's something in the woman's eyes that she recognizes. A pain, a fear, a nightmare that the man with that color eyes will never come back.

She turns to continue on her way, the blue and yellow fabric melding together in her hands.

It's a shame when you can't wear your favorite color.

**A/N: **random, eh?


	2. Different

Different

She's out walking when she sees him. She's doing nothing special, just her everyday errands. She's got three grocery bags in her one hand, and it's freezing below the plate today. She just happens to take the route by the train station, because yesterday there had been a few men there giving ungentlemanly catcalls. She really doesn't feel like putting up with that today.

He's standing, just barely, and when she looks into his eyes, it's only a second to remember, but she does.

She remembers when she was a girl, how they got off on the wrong foot. It'd started with her father banning her from seeing him after she fell off the bridge. It only fed her interest in him when she realized how different he was treated than her.

They had both lost a parent, her more recently. From what she had understood, Mr. Strife had never been present in Nibelhiem, while her mother had died seven years into her life.

The mothers of Nibelhiem had all pitied her, and gave her sympathy kisses and treated her like a princess.

They gave him the hard end of their brooms, and glares that sent the bravest man running.

She had asked her father about it once, why everyone disliked the boy so much.

"He's different, Tifa."

"…isn't that okay? Isn't it good?" It had been good when her mother was alive.

"…No, sweetie, it isn't."

It hadn't been the smartest thing to say to an impressionable young girl. She wanted to be different then, so her father would make being different good again.

So, when Zangan had took up resident in the small town, and every boy flocked to him for training, she joined them. Of course this made every girl and mother appalled, but she didn't care. One day, different would be good again.

She hadn't been the only student, so she had to work that much harder, had to train that much more to be above the rest, to be different.

"Why do you train so much?" the boy had asked her, one day after school.

She had grinned, "I'm not different yet. I can be your friend when different is good again."

She hadn't realized then that the statement was slightly insulting, so the bridge between them had been lengthened. Still, she trained on and on, even after the boy left, till she was different.

Still, different hadn't helped when Sephiroth burned her town to the ground. She hadn't saved anyone, her father included. It also hadn't helped when she arrived in Midgar, where her different attitude and innocence was a beacon for trouble. She had worked through that, though, never actually changing.

Then today comes, when she sees him and remembers everything. He collapses in the entire half-second their eyes connect, and she's stuck with the duty of hauling her groceries and him through the streets.

When he finally wakes in her tiny home, he recognizes her, but he's not sure if she recognizes him.

So, he asks.

"Why did you save me?"

She grins, "I made different good again."

**A/N: **heh, different, eh? Okay, that was corny. **Binkledup** You are a sweetheart. Massive huggles to you. **Cal: **Yesh yesh, I know of teh grammar now. I should go back and fix it...but I'm lazy...hee. This is one of those that I had a few more chapters planned out, but I forgot them all...so I just left it standing, but your review inspired me to bring this thing alive again. thankies **Ghostly** that's the idea...heh


	3. Friends

Friends

He's sitting at the bar again, sipping on 'something hard'. He never asks for anything else, just takes what she gives him without question. She likes that about him. He's quiet, he doesn't betray much of what he's feeling, and when he does, it's usually in some irate manner towards Barret. Needless to say, the two haven't exactly been on the best of terms.

Barret's still a little peeved at her for dragging home some strange man. It got worse when he found out he was an ex-SOLDIER.

She got peeved at Barret for calling him strange, as in stranger, but she can't deny that he's strange…as in, well, strange.

She can tell he's been sick for a while, though what from, she has no idea. She blames that for the times when he sits there, staring blankly, like he's sorting out his mind. He's been through a lot, since the time he left their hometown. He's got scars on his arms, and a hard look about the eyes. They were a bit unnerving at first, the green tint that seemed to make his pupils glow. Now she finds them fascinating. She finds _him_ fascinating. He's an enigma, and she loves it.

She's washing dishes when the little girl comes flying down the steps and into the bar. Marlene's a ball of energy, in her opinion, with wise, curious eyes for a six year old. She has to fix Marlene's ribbon on more than one occasion every day, since the girl always seems to get involved in some adventure.

"Tifa! Tifa! Tifa!" she's hopping up and down with excitement.

She has to stifle her giggle, "What is it, Mar?"

"Daddy," she's trying to catch her breath, "Daddy says—

Marlene cuts off suddenly, eyes wide in an expressive fashion.

She blinks big, studying the girl's sudden quietness, before glancing in the direction of Marlene's eyes.

It's him. The girl is absolutely terrified of _him_.

She can't stop the giggle now, "Oh Marlene, calm down. Come here," she lifts the little girl easily onto her hip, "Marlene, this is my old friend, Cloud."

The little girl's eyes are as big as saucers, studying the impassive swordsman.

"Marlene," she laughs, "He isn't going to hurt you! Honestly, he's harmless."

There's an irritated grunt, obvious disdain at being called 'harmless', but she ignores him, still trying to get Marlene to say something. But the girl refuses, and only slaps her captor's arms to signal that she wants down. She still hasn't taken her eyes away from the man.

She shakes her head in disbelief, before releasing the girl. Marlene drops, landing deftly on her feet, and takes off in a split second back the way she came.

She gives an apologetic smile over her shoulder, "She's just shy."

They both know that's a load of crock.

She continues on washing her dishes, still grinning. She can feel his eyes boring into her back though, so she turns, her soapy hands on her hips.

He hasn't been around for very long, and he's certainly not one to go about spilling his life story and/or feelings, but she's been able to pick up on a few things.

She knows him, at least that much…and it makes her feel warm inside, like she did something right for a change by saving him.

He's staring at her with this irksome look, and she knows exactly what he's conveying without saying.

_Is it really that amusing?_

Or something along those lines, but she doesn't care, just finds it irksome that _he_ doesn't find it amusing.

She stomps her foot once, "Yes, Cloud. It was funny. Crack a smile, would ya? I can't help it you scared the poor girl. I bet it was your hair, for goodness sakes. I mean, her father's got a gun welded to his arm, why would she be scared of your sword?"

She shakes her head, turning back away from him, scrubbing on a shot glass.

"Hm…" His low voice startles her.

"What?" she doesn't even turn around this time.

"You just said…we were old friends."

She pauses, tilting her head back slightly, "I did, didn't I?"

She had introduced him without thinking, and that just seemed natural. It was a bit of a lie, she supposes. It wasn't like they had many childhood stories to relate to, and few encounters baring importance. There was the obvious one, but…they still hadn't talked about that.

"Oh," a bit of a hurt tone enters her voice, and she quickly struggles to mask it, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize…"

There's a scraping sound behind her as he pushes out his barstool, "What're you apologizing for?" he says it in that cocky voice he gets every now and then, when he knows he's right.

She _hates_ that cocky, smug tone of his, because it means he's right and she's wrong, and she hates being told she's wrong.

Course, she doesn't really mind being wrong this time.

"We're friends…right?"

She throws him a quick, beaming grin over her shoulder, "Right."

But he's already walking away to who the hell knows where. It shouldn't be that much, it shouldn't make her that happy, she knows, but it's a lot, coming from him.

**A/N: **I'm suddenly getting mass amounts of inspiration for this story. They're swirling. Thanks for the reviews, loves! **Cal** I think right now, he's still sorting it out a bit. Kinda Cloud, Kinda Zack. He just had a harrowing experience...he's still trying to get straightened out.


	4. Hate

Hate

He hates him.

He _hates _him, and she hates him for hating him…or is at least pissed off about it.

He can't remember actually hating a singular person…he hates ShinRa, but that's a given, and that's a whole group of people…but a single person.

An old friend, from her childhood is the excuse she serves up. He wants to believe her, but maybe it's the fact he _was_ a SOLDIER that he can't trust him as far as he could throw him.

Scratch that, he could probably throw him farther than he trusted the stupid spiky-haired smart-ass jerk. That stupid lanky little fellow, and just how the hell did he make it into SOLDIER?

Still, there's a pleading look in her eyes when she says, "Barret…please…he needs help."

He can't remember ever being mad at Tifa for being Tifa. He was angry at her the first time she went out by herself at night. That was before he knew she could deliver a mean left hook.

He had the bruise for a week to prove it.

And even then, he'd been angry at her because he'd been scared for her…worried that she wouldn't come back and suddenly Marlene's best friend would've been along the naked bodies found in the morning in the gutters.

But she wasn't, and he was glad for it.

She hasn't told him much about her past, but he knows the haunted look in her eyes, one that says 'I'm not going to talk about it so don't ask'. He knows, because every time he looks in the mirror, he sees that same look in his tired eyes.

It's probably the reason she never asked how he ended up with a white-skinned daughter who doesn't even realize there's anything strange about the difference in the color of their skin.

He likes how she never asks about how he ended up with a gun welded to his arm, and how she's compassionate to his daughter, yet harbors an intense passion to rid the world of ShinRa. He likes how she's modest, and shy, but has no reason to be. He likes how she's innocent, when it's obvious she isn't.

Maybe that's why he hates him, because he was her first project. He'll admit he was a bit rough on the edges (well, rougher) when they first met. She's calmed him, and made him a more suitable father for his daughter, and she's like the mother Marlene never had.

Now she's got this…this…_boy_ to take care of, and she's hanging off his every word. And oh she says they're old friends, but he was unconscious when he arrived here, so he doesn't really know if she just pitied him or if she's telling the truth.

He doesn't think she would lie, or compromise Marlene's safety, so he goes with it.

He's coming in from scoping out one of the reactors when the first real confrontation happens. He's picked up a couple things for Marlene, some paper dolls he saw at a stand on the way in. He feels proud that he can do little things like this for his daughter.

The bar's closed, but he's there, like always…but there's something off. They're both behind the countertop, and Tifa's dressed as if she's just gotten in. She's still got Jessie's jacket on, and she's got something pressed to her eye. There's grocery bags on the floor, and he can tell they've been dropped and not gently sat down on the counter top, like they normally are.

"Tifa, let me see it."

"Stop it, Cloud…it's fine…"

"Ti_fa_, let me see it."

"No! Its fine," she's grumbling, angry, pissed…dangerous.

"Just let me see if it's swelling up any, and then I'll leave it alone."

"Fine," she says, removing what looks like a bag of ice.

They haven't even noticed he's walked in. He's standing across the room, and he still sees the black-purplish ring forming around Tifa's eye, the slight swell that's began to form.

Cloud winces, "Yep…going to swell up pretty bad. Sorry."

It takes all of about three seconds to make some farfetched conclusions, but it's enough to do its job.

He loses it, "You son of a bitch!"

They both jump, turning quickly towards the door, but he's already made his way around to the bar. He grabs the puny swordsman shoulder, and twirls him around, popping him good in the mouth. He hopes a couple of teeth fall out.

Tifa stands there for a moment in open shock, her jaw hanging open. Then she reacts.

"_Barret!_ Oh! Dammit! Cloud! Cloud, are you okay?"

The boy is on the ground, holding his mouth, glaring up at his attacker.

That's when she turns on him.

"Barret! What! Why?!"

He suddenly feels very foolish, "He…gave you…a shiner."

"_What?_ No! Some guy hit me in the face with a board in the market."

"What?"

"It was an accident. And you jumped to conclusions, didn't you? I told you to think things through! Still! That gave you no right to punch Cloud!"

She's scolding him, and he feels like a child when she scolds him because she's so damn good at it.

"Now…Tifa—

BAM! This was the second time she's punched him.

"OW! Shit!"

He cradles his bruised nose (possibly broken), almost laughing at the sheer irony that they would all end up with some sort of facial injury today.

He hates the guy…there's no changing that.

…but, at least it's fun, and it keeps things interesting.

**A/N:** I think Barret's jealous more than hating...but he'd never admit being jealous of Cloud XP **Cal** I'm just kinda going with the flow...it'll prolly be mostly cloud and tifa...but...Barret definately needed his moment to shine


	5. Touch

Touch

She's still trying to figure out when things changed; when she was happy with living with Marlene and Barret but not satisfied. She figures it had something to do with ShinRa and how they depended on them as much as they hated them. After all, who else would provide power to the bar?

She remembers the first time it happened, the first time she crossed boundaries. She never realizes when she does that. It'd been easy with Barret and Marlene when she first began living with them. A child, after nightmares, is always willing for comfort, for warm arms to climb into, and she was always willing to hold the girl, especially on those nights when AVALANCHE was Barret's other baby.

Even Barret, though silent about his past, would take the comforting arms when nightmares plagued his dreams. They weren't as often, and it usually was just enough to calm the large man. It also didn't help that she couldn't wrap both arms around him. Normally she would just rest her head on his shoulder, and wrap an arm awkwardly around his back.

But _him_…he was different.

He tells her that he doesn't remember what the nightmares are about, so she thinks that might have something to do with it.

Or he might be lying.

Or he might just not want to be touched…or want her to touch him. She doesn't know, and she doubts she ever will.

Not one person of AVALANCHE could claim the bedroom upstairs, maybe Barret, but he rarely slept up there. The small, creaky twin bed went through a rotation of the members. It was one of those nights that she was in the hidden basement, curled up in a ball in a sleeping bag freezing her butt off. Wedge had been draped across the worn chair in the corner, while Jessie had taken the bed for the night. Barret and Biggs were out doing reconnaissance work. Marlene had slept with Jessie.

So when he had shifted next to her in a violent manner, she couldn't help but stir from her own fitful sleep.

She had pressed herself up onto her elbows, watching the man beside her twitch and fidget, sweat forming at his brow. She couldn't stop herself, it was an automatic reaction, something she had grown use to…a part of her personality.

She had reached out, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder, whispering "Cloud…"

And he had jerked from his sleep, lashing out, his hand locking down on her wrist in a vice like grip. She had winced, his eyes regarding her in an almost fearful, predatorily manner, as if he didn't recognize her for a moment. And for a moment, she hadn't recognized him either, not with that harsh of a glare, his eyes bright against the darkness of the windowless room.

"Cloud…" she had cringed as he squeezed harder, holding to her wrist much too tightly, and for far too long, "Cloud…"

And then he had blinked, dropping her hand in such a manner in made her feel like she was repulsive, his eyes screaming at her to never touch him again. And then he was gone, jumping so quickly from his sleeping bag he had almost tripped.

He hadn't come back that night, and she hadn't sleep.

She didn't tell Barret why she couldn't bend her wrist the next day without it hurting. She also didn't ask him about it, and a cold silence settled between them for the next two weeks.

She didn't like it, and everyone perceived the awkwardness that the two regarded each other with. It was natural for him to be cold to the rest of the world, but a certain warmness had formed between the two over the past few weeks.

She felt like it had all been torn down now.

She had almost been glad that it was her turn for the bed the next two nights, and she made sure to sleep on the chair, or lay her sleeping bag as far away from him as possible.

Barret had caught on to the silence between them, but didn't act on it, not until he made his move to force the two to sleep beside of each other two weeks later.

She says nothing as she lays out her sleeping bag beside of his, the heavy bulk of Wedge and Barret already consuming the rest of the floor space. He's already laying down, his eyes closed, but he's lying rigid in such a way she thinks of him like a cat, ready to spring into action at a moments notice.

It hurts her that he's still angry with her, that she can't touch him, and she knows she can't, not even if he is conscious. Something is wrong, and it makes her hurt so badly inside. She thinks she won't be able to sleep, and she knows he'll never forgive her if he gets up and leaves tonight.

Though, she's still unsure of what she did truly wrong. She didn't know, she hadn't known, and it hurts.

It almost seems to summon them, these feelings and happenings, as if to mock him or her, and much too quickly it seems, she's in a sea of fire.

_The buildings around her creak and groan as the flames burn their way through the support beams, roofs collapsing, and people screaming. It's a horrific nightmare, and it's real at the same time. The well groans above the ground, its legs almost burnt through. She watches as its legs give out, crumbling in on itself, cracking the base of the well as it smacks the ground. Water rushes up to meet her feet, and she watches her world crumble, everything precious, everything she has is gone._

_Her father…she must find her father._

_Zangan tells her he's at the reactor, and she's running, his words of warning falling on deaf ears. She can stop him, if not with her martial art skills, than with the adrenalin that pumps in her veins._

_Once again, it's too fast that she's found herself at the reactor, and her father's broken body before it. He only has enough strength to clasp her hand weakly, and she feels tears welling up in her eyes before his hand has fallen to the ground limp._

_Her chest burns, it's on fire with pain, consuming her so that it turns to hate, and she grasps the long sword embedded in the earth. _

_She will kill this monster; make him pay for the crimes he has committed. She will kill him, and relish in that fact, enjoy it to its very last drop. _

_She also knows she is foolish as she charges up those steps, tears in her eyes._

_'Never rush your opponent in anger. It leaves you open, and you will be blind in your fury.'_

_Zangan's words once again fall on deaf ears._

_She thinks it impossible how easily the beast takes back his sword, and slashes her viciously across the chest, blood soaking her shirt. She's flying down the steps now, her body bouncing, and laying in a broken, awkward form on the ground._

_What happens now? Oh yes, she remembers, now she wants to die. She wants to die for failing her father, for failing herself, and she repeats it like a litany, as if every word will make it true, take her one step closer to death._

_"I just want to die…just let me die…I just want to die…"_

"No…no you don't," a voice cracks in the background.

She gasps as she's thrown into reality, her eyes flinging open, her eyelashes sticking together, and her cheeks wet. Through her bleary vision, she no longer sees Wedge or Barret on the floor, nor is Biggs thrown across the couch.

It takes a minute for her body to cease being numb, but even before that, she can see his left arm thrown frantically around her.

She doesn't breathe, afraid that if she moves it'll break everything, how his hand is pressing so hard around her own, gripping it tightly in such a way it isn't painful, but makes her feel safe, and secure.

It isn't a true embrace; he doesn't hold her to his chest, and whisper that everything is okay, because he understands that it isn't, and that romantic happenings don't include his forehead pressed into her back, repeating his own litany.

"No…don't die…you don't want to die…"

She can't figure out if he's asleep, but all she knows is that she shouldn't be touching him, and he's touching her and something's going to happen to determine the fate of their relationship in this very moment.

She shudders as she exhales, and that breaks his speech, his breath hitching, and he freezes. They're both unsure of what to do, of who should move, because he's suppose to still be angry at her, or something like that and she's scared.

She's almost glad his breath is as heavy and ragged as hers; as if it makes it true that he does care about her in some shape and form.

He slowly untangles his hand from hers, turning even more slowly away from her, and curling up on himself as if embarrassed or ashamed. She swallows, lying still in the untouched silence before finally rolling over to face his back. She hesitates, swallowing again before reaching out and placing a hand on his back. He flinches, and she freezes, waiting, not sure what his reaction will be.

Slowly, he relaxes beneath her touch, with a shuddering breath. They lay like that for a while longer before she removes her hand; it's all she needs to know. She doesn't sleep for the rest of the night, and she doesn't think he does either.

Today at the bar, she brushes his arm lightly when she passes him, and it's okay.

**A/N:** this is much too long...in comparison to the last four...ah well, I couldn't stop myself. **ankskywalker: **Does that answer your question? heh, I don't know how far I'll take CloTi action...but I can't help but add it. It's like a disease...or an addiction. Frightening. Thanks for the reveiws loves! Till next time


	6. Itch

Itch

He has an itch, except he can't scratch it. It feels like it's on the back of his head, but beneath his skull. It tickles his mind, and flares up in bright flashes he doesn't quite understand.

Tifa is behind the bar again, working alone and swiftly scrubbing each glass and putting them in their rightful position. She is worried, he knows she is, because that's the third time she's washed that glass without realizing it.

It didn't take him long to figure out that there were some illegal workings going on in the Seventh Heaven bar, but he didn't really care; he thought about joining them sometimes, get a bit of vengeance for all the shit ShinRa put him through.

He sighs, sipping on something she gave him; that would be pointless though.

His mind itches again, and he fights to ignore it.

Tifa hates it when they leave her behind, but it would look suspicious that every time the rebellion group known as AVALANCHE attacked, the bar famous for its rebellious nature was empty, and it would automatically be tacked up as suspect number one. She knows one of the reasons she's left behind sometimes is because Barret would worry about her too much even though they both know she's perfectly capable of handling herself.

She worries a lot, Tifa…but he thinks it's in her nature, and even if she didn't have to worry, she'd still worry just because she was so used to it.

Her eyes are lined with fatigue, and that tells him she didn't sleep much last night, but her body moves with the deftness and preciseness as if she were wide awake.

He sips his drink again.

The girl is coming down the steps now, the one that's afraid of him. He finds it sort of amusing, and he almost smirks, watching as she finds herself behind the bar.

Tifa says she's Barret's daughter, and they both know that it's only half the truth, but neither of them are going to ask him about it. Tifa because she's just polite, and him because he just doesn't give a rat's ass about Barret and how he got stuck with Marlene.

Tifa pauses from her mechanic movements to turn to the little girl. Marlene is crying, little red lines blossoming up on her elbow.

Tifa tuts, and reaches down to pick the girl up by her waist, swinging her up above her head and placing her down on the counter beside the sink to examine her. She leans over the girl, and washes the scrape with water from the sink, scolding the girl for running around upstairs. She cleans the cuts, and dries them with a paper towel, distracting the girl from the sting by telling her a story.

"Ya know, when I was little I fell _all_ the time…"

Marlene sniffs, "All the time?"

"Uh huh. My mom would get so mad at me for climbing trees," she smiles sadly, "She would always say, 'Tifa Lockhart! If I catch you up there one more time, I'm going to put you on a leash!'"

Marlene gives a watery giggle, "Really?"

"Mmm hmm. I still have scars on my knees from where I scraped them up after a few bicycle wrecks."

"Really…? Do they s-still hurt?"

"Oh no," Tifa wisely replies, "They can't hurt."

"Why not?" the girl asks, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists.

"Because," Tifa says expressively, "My parents gave me the magic kiss."

Marlene blinks big, "Magic…kiss…?"

"Uh huh…you mean your papa has never given you one?"

Marlene shakes her head no.

"Well, I declare," Tifa smiles, putting her hands on her hips, "I'll have to give you one. Give me your elbow."

The girl holds out her arm, and Tifa presses her lips up against the scrapes, and the little girl stares in wonder.

"Does it hurt anymore?"

Marlene shakes her head no, grinning ear to ear, "Nope! Thanks, Tiffie!"

Tifa laughs, kissing the girl on the forehead before sitting her down on the floor.

"What was that one for, Tifa?"

"For luck," she replies, smiling, "Be careful now…no more running around upstairs, okay? Magic kisses take a lot out of people, and I'll be tired if I have to fix you up all the time."

"Okay," Marlene nods her head, running back the way she came.

Tifa sighs, following her with her eyes, before returning to her monotonous task.

He watches with interest, her eyes brighter and a tiny smile on her face now.

_Magic kisses_… A flash of a maybe once upon a time dream of a normal life, in a normal place, with normal people, and then it's gone.

He can't be sure if it's his own past dream, or someone else's, because faces bleed together, and so did the places.

He's doesn't care though, because he's distracted again.

Tifa's caught him staring at her, and he scratches the back of his head. His mind itches again.

**A/N: **It's kind of a take on Cloud's scratchin the back of the head thing...it was cos his mind itched. Totally Zack's fault.** Cal:**I totally get what you're saying there...it is difficult to say, which is kind of why I like it that way...it leaves you hanging and your imagination runs wild. **sckry: **I totally want to some about those guys, I just haven't had the inspiration yet, but I'm working on it...there's just so much I could do, I thnk my mind's having problems deciding what to do. Anywas, sorry it took so long on the update guys! This one just kind of comes and goes as it pleases. Thanks for the reviews! I realllly love them, and appreciate them. Later


	7. Lights

Lights

"Breathe, Jesse, please...I need you to breathe."

Jesse isn't breathing well, the tightness pulling on her chest. It all went wrong, and she can't help but feel like its partly her fault. Jesse had been standing by the door when the guard burst in. Jesse had been the one that the blade cut into. Jesse wasn't supposed to be the one that happened to. It should've been her. Jesse should've been standing with Barret, examining the reactor instead of by the door.

If Jesse dies, she'll never forgive herself.

She had requested that position with Barret, and Jesse didn't mind...she had just been so tired of being left out all the time, and being left out even when she was included.

She presses her palm _hard_ into Jesse's chest, just beneath her breastbone. It's awkward, and difficult with Jesse in Barret's arms, with Biggs and Wedge stumbling along in front of them, clearing the way. She thinks Jesse will be okay, the cut isn't too deep...she thinks. Course, she's never been much of a healer even with a good materia in her hand, and this moment right here is motivating her to go home and scratch her arm and practice healing.

Barret is cursing...he always curses when things like this happen. The words are strung together like lights; none of them have a beginning and none of them have an end. They just keep on trailing through the air like Jesse's blood is trailing across the ground. She could bleed to death. She could _die_. She will die, if they don't do something about it.

"Jesse...stay awake! Jesse!" She feels bad about lightly slapping Jesse's cheek, as if she needs to be in anymore pain than she already is, but she _has _to stay awake. She just has to.

"Okay...Ti...Tifa..." But her eyes are closing slowly, and now there are footsteps and gunshots behind them.

God they were ambushed, weren't they? Something like that...it couldn't have gone that bad otherwise, right? They aren't that terrible at making a difference, right?

That's when it feels like she's been punched in the gut. Her breath leaves her lungs in a ragged, sharp exhale, and her foot catches on air, but even that's enough to make her fall.

"_Fuck!_"

_Yes, fuck_ she mentally agrees with Barret.

She kisses the pavement and the lights go out.

* * *

"...this happens... we all know the chance of this happening. We all know the risks." 

"This doesn't happen to _us_, Wedge. We're supposed to prevent this from happening, dammit." He's angry.

"...there's nothing else we could've done–

"There's always something else!"

"We've done all that we can... Biggs already paid off the doctor, so he'll keep his mouth shut–

"Wedge–

"Jesse should be fine as long as she doesn't do anything stressful. The stitches will hold, then."

"And Tifa? What about her?"

"...the bullet's out...and she's doing well...now. She should be fine–

"Fine?! _Fine?!_ She got shot in the back!"

"...Barret...you saw...her... her chest when-when the doctor had...to bandage her up..."

"..."

"She's survived a lot worse, Barret. She's stronger than this."

A sigh. "...have you found the boy?"

"Who? Her friend?"

"What _other _boy do you think I'm talking about?"

"Oh! Uh, no... Biggs has been out, but, no sign of him yet."

"Perfect. Maybe he won't come back."

"Are you serious?"

* * *

"What happened?" Distress? In his voice? 

"You know about us, you know who we are...don't try to deny it."

"That doesn't help. Listen. I know you don't like me, and I certainly don't like you, Wallace, so I won't hesitate to use force to figure out what the hell happened."

"The reactor...we were getting the layout. It went wrong. That's what happened."

"When?"

A hand? On her shoulder?

"About three hours ago. The doctor got the bullet out. We need to watch her though..." A pause, licking his lips nervously. "What's the scar from?"

"What?"

"The _scar_, boy. What happened? You knew her when she was a kid."

"I haven't seen her in five years–...where...is the scar?"

"Straight down her chest. Why?"

A sigh. "Listen, if you know what the hell happened to her, tell me–

"If she hasn't told you, it isn't my place."

"Cl–

"I'll take the first watch."

* * *

She opens her eyes slowly, recognizing the feeling. Her eyelids feel like twenty pound weights that just want to stay shut, but if she doesn't open them, it'll be a long time before she even gets the opportunity to open them again. 

It's dark in the upstairs bedroom. It's almost nearly impossible to tell what time it is under the plate.

She groans softly, her breath coming out in short puffs.

She's laying on her stomach, and her back is aching.

That's when she realizes she's topless, granted, she's got bandages covering her up pretty well, but she's _topless_.

A door bangs downstairs -gunshot- the blood drains from her face -Jesse's chest- and then it all rushes back.

"Jesse!" She pushes herself up violently, and then collapses back onto the bed in a heap as the pain seizes her back.

She hisses through her teeth as nausea pulls on her stomach. "Damn."

"You should watch your back. You wouldn't be in this situation right now."

The low voice catches her off guard. In the dim light she can see him sitting in the chair across the room beside the door. His arms are crossed, and his head is down, and his blonde locks almost look like they're drooping.

"Where's..." she croaks, and clears her throat. "Where's Jesse?"

"You should worry about yourself." He stands suddenly, keeping his head down, and his eyes averted as he makes his way over. She pushes herself up _slowly _and carefully onto her elbows, glaring at him from beneath her bangs.

"Don't push me right now."

"You think you can push back?"

She wants to smack him, but he's right and she _can't_ do that. She can barely move as it is.

He picks up a pitcher and a glass off of the stand, and pours a glass. He holds it up to her lips, and she glances at him warily before parting her lips slightly. She'd expect maybe Biggs to tip the glass back to far and get her choked up, but not him. He's too serious for joking sometimes.

Or maybe not.

She coughs and sputters, her throat screaming in protest as water gushes down. Her chest feels like it's ripping in two with each cough.

She musters up her most vehement glare, but it's like throwing a ping pong ball at a brick wall.

She hates him sometimes.

But she's glad he's here.

He puts the glass back down on the stand, and she can tell there are lines beneath his eyes from lack of sleep.

"Where's Jesse?"

"She's fine...taking it easy on the couch downstairs."

She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and winces.

"How long?" she asks, fearing the answer.

"Three days."

"When did you show up?"

He shrugs, acting indifferent. "I think last night..."

"Think?"

He shrugs again. "Maybe the night before."

"How long have _you_ been up here?" she asks, studying him from beneath her bangs.

He staring down again as he shrugs..._again_.

_Answer a question, stupid man._

"Barret?"

"Taking care of Marlene and the bar. You should watch your back."

"Is that where it hit?" she prompts.

It suddenly occurs to her at the angle he is at currently, and the way she is sitting up, he has a very generous, and a very perfect view of her cleavage with the low bandages.

She tries to discreetly flatten back into the mattress without blushing.

The bed creaks, and the floorboards do too as he shifts to the right.

"Here." His fingers barely graze her spine, but a flash of light hits her beneath her eyelids.

"They healed you when they got here apparently. The doctor came and had to reopen the wound to get the bullet out. He was skilled. You're lucky."

"I've had worse."

He nods his head, moving back to his seat. "I know. They do too."

"What do you mean?" she asks, her face pressed into the pillow again.

He plops down into the chair. "The bandages. Your scar." He gestures vaguely towards her.

Oh. _Oh._

This is the first time they've really even brushed against their past, or Nibelhiem's past. She wonders if he knows what happened to Nibelhiem.

"We've all got scars," he says, and she thinks he surprises himself when he says that. He locks onto her eyes with his own. "You've just got another one. You should watch your back."

Her eyes are drooping, and she can barely keep them open. "Maybe _you_ should watch it for me..." She sighs. "You promised, anyways," she mutters under her breath without realizing it.

It occurs to her in that moment that his eyes glow in the dark, and are only the real light she sees. They were the first light she saw when she woke up.

They're the last light she sees before she falls asleep again, too.

**A/N: **Been a while since I touched in on this one. Classes start again tomorrow. WEEP. Ah well...I hope you enjoyed this, and I hope they're are still some of you out there reading this. I appreciate the reviews, so, till next time loves.


	8. Stuck

Stuck

He likes to tease her like her mother used to tease her hair when she was five. She still hates the memories of the hairdo that had her carrying the nickname 'Poofa' for a year.

When he's brave, and she's not completely sober, he'll throw it in for kicks.

It's easy to get lost in a world where others don't exist; she'd like to think they could stay there forever...just stop time and not have to worry.

But life isn't like that and he's cold when he's not warm with liquor, and her fingers feel like spider-webs blowing in the wind when she reaches out for him and he's not there. It isn't fair, and it isn't easy, even he realizes this...but part of life is living hard even when you want to just live easy. If she was content with living easy, she'd never have joined AVALANCHE.

If she was content with living easy, she just would've died at that reactor.

But she didn't.

And he didn't, and he thinks he's been stuck ever since that night.

She looks like a flower sometimes when her hair is lose, pedals touching the floor. She looks as delicate as one too, until they get into a fight and she'll punch his arm.

Then he'll remember her fists are hard as bricks, and carry the weight of the world with them.

Then she'll be delicate again when she's bandaging the scrape on his arm after a run in with ShinRa guards. She'll scold him for being stupid, and her fingertips will feel like silk until he gets too riled up to sit there or even remember to say thank you. He always mumbles it the next day.

She can tell he doesn't like being in debt to other people. It's not that he doesn't mind repaying people, he just thinks he should've never had their help in the first place. For as strong and cocky and arrogant that little SOB can be, he really doesn't think he's strong at all.

She can see it in his eyes sometimes, when the lights are dim enough in the bar, and there's enough customers for him to blend in. His eyes will shine then, not really focused on the present, but his muscles taunt beneath skin, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

Every now and then he gets a wild, feral look to his eyes, especially if he's cornered, and not even in a dangerous situation. Even if it's one he knows he can get out of, he's still thinking of all the ways things can go wrong, and all the ways he can make them go right again.

She can't imagine what ShinRa did to him to make him quit SOLDIER. After all, that had been his dream, his reason for leaving Nibelhiem in the first place. That's what he had told her, right? That night, when she acted like a girl with a crush and made a boy make a promise he didn't have to keep.

But he's here, and he can, and she doesn't know if he will.

Until he tossed out the guys that cornered her one night after the bar closed. He knew perfectly well she could've handled them herself, and he didn't say anything about the promise, so she won't...but still...

It had caught her off guard, and she knows Barret would've done the same thing if he had walked in on that.

That's what's so confusing about him.

Because he's not supposed to care, or he acts like he doesn't until he gets into a fight with her about being stupid and she punches him. Or when he stays up two nights in a row waiting for her to wake up.

Barret wouldn't tell her that. He thinks he's bad news as it is without him caring for her.

Wedge did.

She thinks she may never know what ShinRa did...but she's almost glad that they did. He could still be working for ShinRa...she could've fought him. She could've killed him or been killed by him. She wonders now if they would've even recognized each other in that situation. She thinks she would've recognized him, but who is to say anything when it comes to him. He's unpredictable, and she can see his personality shift before her very eyes sometimes, like he's battling within himself. He doesn't realize it, and she barely realizes it herself...but there's a difference to his posture. He's silent and arrogant, and then he's silent and watchful...taking everything in with his eyes, like he's trying to learn as much as possible. Arrogant people don't try to learn as much as possible. They already believe they've learned everything there is to learn.

She doesn't understand it and she thinks she never will.

What she _needs _to do is stop holding back and tell him what happened to Nibelhiem. Unless he had been there after the attack...the fire...and seen the ruins... but still, he wouldn't really _know_ what had happened. He could tell there had been a fire, but not what caused it because of the cover up...because ShinRa never does anything wrong and had no part of it. He wouldn't even know who caused it.

Him. His hero.

Barret's hand hits the counter top and she jumps, shaken from her reverie.

"Hmm? What is it?"

Barret sighs. "I hate him."

She doesn't have to ask who.

She sighs, putting her hands on her hips. "And?"

"I need his help."

"Oh?" This is becoming amusing.

"Shaddup. You know this is hard as it is, girl." He sighs again. "We need brute strength...we're doing it. Jesse's got her bomb ready. We need to take out that reactor. We need to make a statement. AVALANCHE will not stand silently anymore. We'll hit 'em where it hurts."

"That's great! When do we–

"Whoa. Not we–

"_What_?"

"Listen to me girl...I know it's been a while since ya got shot, but I don't want to risk it–

"Barret." This always happens.

Well, she doesn't always get shot, but he almost always finds a reason.

"Don't worry...you'll get the next one, I promise. I'll need both of ya then...this reactor is a bit easier to get into and out of. I need to test him out, make sure he's as good as he _thinks _he is."

She shakes her head. "What makes you so sure that he'll agree? He's never shown any interest before."

"Hell, he said he was a mercenary! And as much as I hate usin an ex-SOLDIER, he would come in useful."

She takes a deep breath, staring at the grain of the wood. She follows the pattern with her eyes.

"I suppose... but it's dangerous putting you two anywhere together without me there to moderate..."

"I'll behave."

"Maybe," she sniffs. She crosses her arms stiffly. "When is it?"

"A week." Barret holds up a finger, pointing at her. "Ask him tonight, would ya? Everybody wants vengeance against ShinRa... he is an _ex-_SOLDIER. That's gotta count for somethin."

"I suppose. Alright." She nods her head, and Barret cracks a toothy grin.

"Just make sure _he _behaves too."

"I make no promises."

_xxx_

It's incredibly late that night when he finally shows up. He comes in quietly, shutting the door softly behind him. He doesn't notice her sitting behind the counter. She's got a half empty glass bottle resting up against her lips, and her hair fell out of its tie about two hours ago. It was a horrendously busy night, and while she'd just like to go to sleep, it's been eluding her.

He starts to head for the pinball machine that lowers into the secret room when he spots her in the hazy, orange light.

He walks over slowly, pulling his mammoth sword off his back, and resting it up against the wall.

"You're still up."

She glances at him, the bottle slipping off her lips and nicking her teeth.

She swears as the sensation sends jolts up to her brain. She lightly grips her mouth, and glances at him from beneath her bangs.

He scrapes the stool out across the bar from her and plops down, snatching the bottle out of her hands swiftly. He takes a quick swing, and clunks it back onto the counter top and stares at her blatantly.

"Long day?" she asks, folding her arms before her.

He shrugs with one shoulder before lifting the bottle back up. She watches as he chugs the remains with ease, and sighs throatily when his lips finally part from the bottle.

She raises an eyebrow, reaching blindly under the counter to pull out another bottle.

"You don't usually drink," he says after taking the first gulp.

She shrugs. "You don't usually talk," she shoots back, stealing her bottle from him. "I didn't get this out for you."

"Moody..."

"Thief." But she slides the bottle back to him after her next sip.

He takes another healthy gulp.

She watches as his Adam's apple rises and falls, little beads of sweat clinging to the ridges in his skin. He would've caught her staring but he's too busy taking another deep gulp of the amber liquid.

She glances away as he sets the bottle back down.

"What is it." It's a statement, not a question.

She glances at him, watching him warily.

"It's...nothing."

He grunts, unamused.

She sighs, rolling her eyes. It's okay for _him_ to not want to talk, but if she doesn't want to talk...well, that's just ridiculous.

He raises his eyebrow in time with the bottle, and she narrows her eyes before conceding.

"Do...you remember... that night by the well?"

She thinks for half a second he nearly chokes on the liquid, but then somehow he's back to normal, staring her down.

He doesn't answer her question so she goes on.

"I guess you haven't been home in a while. That would've been..." She plays with the bottle cap, sliding it across the counter top. "...the last time."

He narrows his eyes slightly, but she's too busy tracing the wood grain with the bottle cap to notice.

"It's gone." The words slip easily from her mouth, made slick across her tongue by the liquor. "You came here...to join something...that destroyed us. I don't blame you... I, we all thought...everyone."

She sighs, pressing her fingertips to her temples.

She suddenly looks up with conviction in her eyes. "It's been seven years since you left Nibelhiem. Seven years since I last saw you. You left to be a SOLDIER. What happened? What made you change your mind?"

He says nothing at first, stares straight at her as if confused, then glances off to the side. "A lot can happen. A lot did happen."

"I–I know...but...what happened to our home–

"A tragedy." His gruff voice sends chills up her spine. "Five years...that night..."

She blinks, her vision slightly bleary and she tries to blame it on the alcohol.

"What?"

He glances up. "It's been five years. He killed them...all of them. That's reason enough...to be here now...and not where I was."

This statement is so mixed up on so many levels her mind can't even begin to wrap around it. He was acting like he _knew_ what happened...like he had been there himself.

But he hadn't...the only ones...

That man, Zack...

And that monster...

Her face suddenly contorts into a grimace as she thinks of that night. She shudders, rubbing her rib cage slightly.

His eyes flicker to her hand, then back to her face.

"Why are you asking this now?"

She glances up, as if woken from a deep slumber. "Because." She stands slowly, picking up the empty bottles, and carrying them to the bin. "Barret wants to hire you for an AVALANCHE mission. He thinks you have a reason to resent ShinRa. He's right."

It was suppose to be seven she thinks...not five... he hadn't been there...had he? Maybe it is the alcohol...

Maybe it isn't.

But what is she suppose to say to a two year difference? What could've happened to him...what had happened to him? If he had been there that night, which he hadn't, she would remember...if he had been there that night, what had happened to him after? Did it have something to do with the state of mind she had found him in?

He had pulled out of that, but she could see the relapses that lasted just for a few moments, or seconds. Is she supposed to say she didn't remember him being there? That he is wrong? How can she prove him right? How can she prove him wrong?

She grips the bottles tightly in her hands, studying the full trash bin.

She can't say anything... maybe her mind is just playing tricks on her. She just isn't thinking straight...she's just too tired and too drunk to put the pieces together.

She doesn't even realize she's swaying until he steadies her, grabbing her elbow lightly. She glances at him, and he takes the bottles from her into one hand, and drops them into the bin. He closes it, and turns to look at her.

He stares at her with a raw look, open and caught in such a turmoil of emotions she can't begin to pick them out and sort them. His eyes are a hazy blue green, and she swallows, feeling small under his stare.

She probably freaked him out with all the question and answers.

"I should...go to bed. You should too."

Her head is spinning, and her stomach feels like it's tied in knots as she takes a step towards the stairs. She doesn't know if it was the liquor or the conversation that's making her feel this way.

He's still got a hold of her elbow though, and that's probably the only reason why she's still standing up.

He leads her up the stairs, and into the tiny bedroom with the creaky bed. She lays down on top of the covers, tucking her boot clad feet up against her thighs and closing her eyes gratefully.

"Thanks," she breathes, nuzzling her nose into the pillow.

There's a creaking as he shifts on the floorboards, and he presses his lips to the corner of her forehead.

She opens her eyes and stares him down.

And he kisses her.

Or she kisses him.

But all she knows is that his lips are on hers, and he's softer than he looks, a lot softer. Her eyelashes brush his cheek, and she sighs against his mouth. He smells like the earth, like dirt and leaves...like Nibelhiem which is impossible because he hasn't been there in seven years or five years or however the hell long, and she wants to bottle that smell up and save it for days when she'd just like to be normal...days when she'd just like to be the girl next door, and him be the boy that stayed _home_.

But he wasn't, and she isn't and he pulls back slowly and stares back down at her. She'd like to stay in this moment, stuck her forever, but she can't keep her eyes open because she already thinks she's dreaming.

And dreams don't last for that long.

_xxx_

When she wakes it feels like there's someone rattling boulders in her head, and piercing her eyelids with needles. She has no idea how she got where she is, and she's pretty sure she's in the bed, but she can't be too sure. It still feels like she's in her clothes from yesterday, but at least she managed to get her boots off, and under the covers.

She manages to crack one eye open, spotting an unfamiliar sight.

He's sitting at the foot of the bed, his eyes staring blankly ahead, his hands clasped loosely before him.

"Cloud?" Her throat feels like someone's laid gravel in it.

"I'll do it."

Her forehead wrinkles. "Do what?"

He glances at her. "Barret's job."

"Oh...okay..." She has a vague recollection of Barret telling her about the job, but not much else.

She watches him stand, and leave the room, still confused.

She's too tired to care anyways.

But as her eyes close, for some reason, she's got the numbers seven and five stuck in her head.

**A/N: **This is the end of this story...this one never really had a plot, just a tying of a couple things and reasons why Tifa and Cloud could've gotten close during their short time before the whole friggin incident known as FFVII. I tried to tie in the fact that some people like to blame Tifa for Cloud's mental instability because she didn't say anything about how their memories were different...but I tried to show that she was confused...I mean, what the hell do you say to something like that? It's like people who get the number of years they've been married mixed up. Ah well...I also find it believable that they could've shared a kiss, when drunk, and been too drunk to remember it (AKA Tifa) or didn't want to admit that they had done it in fear of the other not remembering it. I mean, come on...in all the history of drunken kisses, I'm sure just a little peck like that one could've happened...and yes, this leads nearly right up to the beginning of the game. I know I'm sort of cutting this off unexpectedly, but this just begged to be written, so I wrote it.

Thank you all soooooooo much for the reviews I got for this. This story isn't exactly 'mainstream' since it isn't post AC, but I don't mind. I hope you enjoyed this short little diddy that took months to finish. I need to go to bed now.

On a completely unrelated note, I hate Mineralogy.


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